


Saint & Sinner

by Caeseria



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angry Sex, Frottage, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:25:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8480794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caeseria/pseuds/Caeseria
Summary: This isn’t Eros; it is not agape. This is lust, pure and primal, but the man beneath him responds to it, nonetheless. He still doesn't like Yuuri; regardless of what happens here – now – that will never change.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sekaiseifuku promised me a bottle of my favourite wine if I wrote this. She laid the smackdown of this prompt on me rather like Yuuri when he slapped Minami-kun on the back in episode five. How could I resist? It seemed rather apt to name this fic after that wine: Saints & Sinners ;)
> 
> Set during episode 3.
> 
> Note on naming: some of you are going to get annoyed that Yuri P. is refering to himself here as Yurio. Sorry about that, but I got 2500 words into this and it wasn't flowing; I had Yuuri's and Yuri's and Katsuki's and it just wasn't working for me. I'm well aware that Yuri hates the nickname, and obviously is not going to refer to himself internally as Yurio, but for ease of reading it just worked out better. :)
> 
> I'm also on [Tumblr](http://caeseria.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi, or leave a prompt!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
Being a teenager sucks, Yurio thinks. Up until now he's taken all that sexual energy that his hormones are battering him with and has channeled it into his skating; turned it into an intense drive to succeed at all costs. He has no time for all the little things most teenagers are obsessed with: music, girls, alcohol. Sure, Yurio’s no stranger to sex, other than to view it as a means to an end, a trump card to be used to get him further ahead. He refuses to think about romance because romance implies weakness; a dilution of the soul. Besides, if he starts to contemplate that, he’ll start to think about Victor.  Victor’s always been his weak point, his Achilles heel. At first, he was someone to emulate, to look up to, and later, when the fucking hormones kicked in, it shifted until Victor became the person Yurio breathes for.

Yurio’s life had been tolerable right up until fucking Katsuki Yuuri had shaken his failure of an ass all over social media, making Victor forget every promise he’d made.  In just under four minutes, the Japanese piglet had managed to destroy Yurio’s life and his plans, and Yurio’s _angry_ about it.

That’s why he’s in Japan, in the middle of fucking nowhere, skating in a shabby, old rink and trying to regain Victor’s attention.  Yurio’s even gone so far as to agree to this debacle of a skating competition, _Onsen on Ice_ , just so he can make Victor promise to come back to Russia.  Of equal importance, it also gives Yurio the opportunity to crush Yuuri underfoot like he deserves and, even better, he’s going to do it in front of an audience. 

He’s going to destroy Katsuki Yuuri, and it’s going to be _fun_.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days pass in a flurry of practice, of sideways glances, of enmity with the Japanese piglet. Yurio’s frustration with Victor starts to manifest itself in dreams: filthy dreams with Victor as the centerpiece, a naked, toned god who bends Yurio to his will every night, who coaches him to orgasm with a seductive voice like honeyed wine.  Yurio’s losing sleep; the walls of the inn are thin and he’s worried he’s making sounds he’s not even aware of – that he’s begging the Victor of his dreams to fuck him senseless, to use him how he wants, over and over.  He can’t take much more of this, waking in a tangle of sweat-damp sheets, gasping from the fading throes of orgasm; it’s affecting his skating, his concentration and he feels like he’s balancing on a knife-edge, where one small misstep will ruin him for good.

In the past, Yurio’s managed to channel his frustration away from his sleep.  Sleep is important; his developing body needs it, and he only has a short window of time to take advantage of the talent he’s been gifted with.  Soon, his body will change, the playing field will level and, instead of being a young prodigy, a glowing star, he’ll be just another young skater, another stallion amongst the many in Russia’s stable. 

Just when he thinks he’s getting a handle on the dreams, Yuuri asks him to show him how to land a quad Salchow.  In what is clearly a misplaced moment of insanity, Yurio agrees.  His subconscious seems to interpret this as some type of male bonding bullshit, and Yurio wakes the next morning, eyes wide in the pre-dawn darkness, come cooling on his stomach again.  _No.  Just… no_ , he thinks to himself in horror.  _I can’t deal with_ him _in my fucking dreams as well_. 

Despite his denials, he feels a surge of tired lust. That’s the problem with being a teenager; his body doesn’t seem to know when to pause.  His mind helpfully replays the scene; this time Yurio’s on his knees, Yuuri standing over him, and Victor has his arms around Yuuri, jacking him off nice and slow.  Yurio’s never seen that look on Yuuri’s face before and his dream-self is fascinated by it, can’t help but kneel there, watch the way Yuuri’s breath comes faster as Victor works him over, the way his hands clench at his sides, how his head falls back on Victor’s shoulder.  Dream Victor is talking again but Yurio can’t understand the words.  He leans forward, places his hands on Yuuri’s hips and –

“Yurio? Yurio!”

_Fuck_ , Yurio snarls to himself.  He’s hard _again_ and it sounds like Victor is close by, probably in the hallway outside his room.  He pulls the blankets up around his waist, hoping, for once, that Victor will take the hint and Go. The Fuck. Away.

“Yurio, let’s have breakfast!” Victor calls cheerfully from the corridor.

Yurio glances at his phone. “It’s not even six,” he growls.

Yurio can almost imagine Victor outside; he’s probably leaning with one hand on the doorframe, head bent forward, listening.  Probably smirking too; a secret smile playing at the corner of his lips.  “You want to win, right, Yurio?” 

“Don’t call me Yurio,” he snaps.  “Fine, I’m getting up.  You’d better be ready, Victor.”

“I’m always ready,” Victor replies enigmatically, and Yurio hates him just a little bit for that. 

Yurio hears the floorboards creak as Victor turns on his heel and pads back down the hallway.  After a few moments, he releases a deep breath and flops back onto the mattress, arms stretched out to either side, blinking hard into the darkness.  One thing’s for certain; if this carries on, he’s either going to kill Yuuri, himself or Victor.  It’s only a matter of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yurio's becoming fascinated by Yuuri. As much as he hates it, after the dreams start he can't stop watching Yuuri, the way he moves, how he dances across the ice. His teenage brain can't help but translate that into sex; in the right hands, Yurio will bet hard cash that Katsudon would fuck like a wave, all graceful movement, passion unleashed.  He's seen him on the ice, can translate that to the bedroom easily enough.  Hell, he’d fuck him anywhere; against the wall, over a table, in the onsen. He'd bet if he did it just right he could make the little piglet squeal.

He smirks, and it catches Yuuri’s eye.  Yuuri’s doing figures, his free leg still sloppy, and Victor’s going to verbally crush him over that when he catches him doing it.  Yurio can’t wait; it soothes some of his ever-present frustration to see Victor’s pet scolded publicly.  Victor’s never held back on the praise, nor the reprimands.  In fact, Victor can be downright vicious when he wants to, and do it all with a smile.  It’s a new thing for Yurio to be rebuked like a small child; he’s used to Yakov’s bellowing when he does something he’s not supposed to, but it needles him when he’s forced to endure Victor’s brand of passive-aggressive coaching.  He feels ashamed, disappointed in himself, and it’s made worse with Victor fawning over Yuuri. Victor was always supposed to belong to Yurio – body, soul, and talent – and now Victor’s throwing himself at Yuuri’s feet instead. 

Yurio deepens his smirk; he knows he looks intimidating when he does it.  He watches Yuuri’s eyes widen slightly and the piglet blushes, which is _interesting_.  Yurio wonders what that’s about, even as Yuuri wobbles a little on his skate, and something in Yurio wakens, starts to purr.  He feels rather like a big cat slowly wakening, stretching his muscles, readying for the hunt.

Yurio hears a familiar footfall behind him and breaks eye contact with Yuuri.  With Victor’s arrival, the moment is broken.  It’s time to show Victor what he can do, how much better he is than Yuuri.  And once he’s proven that in public, they can go back to Russia and forget that, for a moment, Victor lost his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Victor!” Yurio’s been looking for Victor for well over an hour now, ever since practice ended.  He’s getting annoyed; he wants to talk about this whole Agape bullshit, which he still doesn’t understand.  “Victor!” he bellows down the hallway. 

This section of the inn is strangely quiet; there’s another large party of guests that have arrived this afternoon, Americans, Yurio thinks.  Yuuri’s parents and sister are run ragged catering to them, and it’s the perfect time to seek out Victor while everyone’s busy.  He’s probably hiding in his room, and that’s where Yurio is headed.  He slides open the door and stops, surprised to see Yuuri there.  He’s got a pile of freshly folded towels in his hands, and as Yurio opens the door, he spins around.

“Yurio?” he says, surprise etched onto his face, eyes wide behind his glasses.

“ _Katsudon_ , where’s Victor?” he barks out.  Yurio can’t help it. He can feel the full force of his frown; it almost makes his head ache with it.

“Ah, I think he’s at the ramen stand, drinking again,” Yuuri replies.  He leans over and places the towels on the corner of the bed and then turns back to Yurio. 

Yurio watches him; his precise Japanese way of doing things so _carefully,_ like everything matters – even putting fucking towels on the bed. Yuuri’s graceful; no matter what he does his body seems to flow with it, and Yurio’s hit with a random image from another one of last night’s dreams.  He shakes his head, realizes the ever-present simmering anger hasn’t gone away, despite the dreams.  He’s angry at Victor, at the fucking mess his life has become, at Yuuri.  Yuuri’s here _now_ and, right or wrong, he’s become the sole focus of Yurio’s ire.  He steps into the room, into Yuuri’s space and grabs a handful of his t-shirt, twisting until Yuuri is forced to step closer or tear the fabric.

“Why you?” he demands.  “Why the hell are you so special?” He hates the fact that his voice cracks at the end of the sentence; it makes him sound needy, like he cares what Yuuri means to Victor.

There’s that look of surprise on Yuuri’s face again; his mouth parts, as if he’s going to say something, and Yurio’s gaze focuses on Yuuri’s lips for a fatal, damaging split second.  He forces himself to look back into Yuuri’s eyes, dares the piglet to answer the question.  “Well?”

Yuuri seems to shake himself mentally; he gets that determined, greater-than-thou look on his face, seems to grow a couple of centimetres as he straightens up until Yurio’s forced to look upward to keep eye contact.  He reaches out, closes a hand around Yurio’s wrist and twists.  Yurio’s got no idea where someone like Yuuri would have learned a move like that, but the sudden movement burns the skin of his wrist and he releases him with a curse.  Yurio doesn’t step backward though; he’s not going to give ground to someone like Yuuri.

“Why am I special?” Yuuri says.  His voice is even, the way he speaks the words making it sound like Yurio’s question is a mere trifle, a mildly interesting way to pass a few moments.  Yuuri smiles; a secret smile that infuriates Yurio.  “Because I can win with Victor’s guidance.”

It’s like he’s implying Yurio can’t do it, won’t win, and Yurio sees red.  He slams a hand into Yuuri’s chest, dead centre, pushes him backward.  The Jap wasn’t expecting that, clearly, because he stumbles back.  “Don’t fuck with me, Katsudon,” Yurio growls.  “You’re nothing; you had your chance last year and you blew it, publicly.  What gives you the right to take Victor away from me? He gave me his word and you made him break his promise!” 

Yurio’s mortified; he’s all but come out and said, _Victor’s mine, hands off_.  Yuuri realizes it a split second after Yurio does; his eyes widen in realization and then he flushes, a fine dusting of red across his cheeks.  Yurio feels like he’s been punched in the gut; Yuuri’s an open book and Yurio knows that something’s happened since yesterday, something between him and Victor that’s shifted their relationship in a new direction.  It makes Yurio furious.  

He shoves Yuuri again and, this time, it’s enough to make him lose his balance.  Yuuri’s legs hit the edge of Victor’s bed and he goes down, flat on his back, grabbing at Yurio. Yurio’s caught by surprise, not expecting Yuuri to reach for him; suddenly he’s kneeling on the bed, staring down at Yuuri, one knee planted between his legs.

For a moment, there’s absolute silence in the room.  Yuuri’s sucked in a breath, like he’s scared to breathe, and they’re poised there, frozen in time, balancing dangerously between unthinkable possibilities.

Yurio’s not been this close, in this situation, to another person for months, and whether it’s the dreams, or the fact that he wants to dominate Yuuri, to own him, even for a moment, he doesn’t know.  He watches Yuuri’s eyelashes flutter behind his glasses, watches as he takes a shaky breath.  Yurio grins and it’s a dangerous smile, a warning, before he leans down and captures Yuuri’s mouth in a harsh kiss.  Yuuri makes a surprised noise and his hands come up, pushing at Yurio’s shoulders.  Yurio lets Yuuri push him back, because this is deliciously perfect. “Well, that answers that question,” he drawls. The words are spilling out before he can help himself, poison laced with sugar, “The little piglet’s a virgin.  No wonder Victor’s after you, although Japan’s a long way to come to pop a cherry.”

In Yurio’s dreams, Yuuri knows what he’s doing, can suck a cock like a champion, take it the ass while moaning like a whore begging for more.  The reality before him is so far removed from those dreams.  He watches Yuuri beneath him, watches as he shifts nervously on the bed – _Victor’s bed_ -  watches as Yuuri blushes again, looks away to the side.  When he makes eye contact again, Yuuri looks determined, eyes flashing behind his glasses, a spark of anger there that transforms Yuuri’s face into something sharp and beautiful, and it goes straight to Yurio’s dick.

“Nothing to say, Katsudon?” Yurio waits; Yuuri may be angry now, but his polite Japanese upbringing is getting in the way, which is disappointing.  Yurio’s not sure which way he himself is currently headed; whether he wants to fight or wants to take out his aggression with a good fucking.  “What are you going to do when Victor wants _payment_ for all the coaching he’s been giving you?”  Yurio leans down; ignores the way Yuuri’s hands fist against his shoulders.  “He’s going to be so disappointed, isn’t he? Or maybe not? Maybe he likes the idea of being the first to fuck you.”  Yurio’s getting hard and he lets his gaze roam over Yuuri’s body, knows he looks hungry, feral.

Yurio’s so focused on goading Yuuri into losing control that he’s completely surprised when Yuuri hooks a leg over his, pushes with his hands, and flips them over.  Yurio lays there, stunned, as Yuuri kneels over him, positions reversed.  Yuuri looks a little surprised once he realizes what he’s just done.

“Huh,” Yurio drawls.  “That’s the same face you made when you fucked up in Sochi.”

The surprise on Yuuri’s face quickly gives way to anger and determination and fuck, if that isn’t one of the hottest things Yurio’s seen outside of his dreams. 

Yuuri leans down and it’s like slow motion. Yurio watches as he tilts his head to the side.  Yuuri kisses him, hard, tongue sliding into Yurio’s mouth at the same time he drops his hips and rolls them, making delicious contact. Yurio makes a noise that’s part surprise, part gasp, because _fuck_ , it feels so good and he wants as much of this as he can get.  Yurio shifts enough to confirm that yes, Yuuri is hard too, and isn’t that surprising?  Yuuri freezes at the movement, pulls back, and his lips are wet, color high on his cheekbones; he looks like he’s just realized this is totally a bad idea.  Yurio’s nowhere near done with this; he’s decided he wants to see what the real Yuuri looks like when he comes. Whether it’s as much of a turn-on as dream Yuuri.

“Going to back out now, Katsudon?” Yurio asks.  He intends it to sound harsh, to goad Yuuri into action, but his voice comes out husky, far deeper than normal.  “Or is that the extent of your vast repertoire of sexual knowledge?”

There’s that anger again, flashing in Yuuri’s eyes.  “Don’t underestimate me, Yurio,” Yuuri says.  “I’m not a confused teenager who can’t keep it in his pants; who spends all his time lusting after someone _twelve years_ his senior.  You’re never going to catch up to Victor; he’s always going to be a decade ahead of you in talent, in success.  And trust me, I’ll always be looking over his shoulder, and you’ll _always_ be looking at my back.”

Yurio reaches up, grabs Yuuri by the hair and tugs hard, pulling him down until his lips are next to Yuuri’s ear.  Yuuri lets out a surprised noise of pain but Yurio keeps him in place with a hand on his hip.  “The only reason I’ll be looking at your back, Katsudon, is because my cock will be in your ass,” he hisses.  He grinds upwards, feels Yuuri’s cock twitch in response; his hips jerk, like he’s still unsure whether to flee or not.  Yurio slides his hand over Yuuri’s waist, down around to the fastenings of his jeans, and flicks his wrist, popping the button. Yuuri’s stomach muscles flutter as his knuckles graze across his skin, and Yurio pulls on the zipper, pushes his jeans down, reaching for Yuuri’s cock. Yuuri makes another surprised noise, breath hot against Yurio’s neck and Yurio grins as he slides his hand up Yuuri’s length, twisting his wrist before sliding back down.  Yuuri’s hips buck again as he pushes into Yurio’s fist, and Yurio knows he’s won; he’s got the little piggy right where he wants him.  It’s not much effort now to roll them over again, slide his leg between Yuuri’s.  Now he can watch Yuuri’s face, dusted with hectic color across his cheeks.  He watches as Yuuri bites his lip, breath coming faster, and it’s like the dream, although the Yuuri of reality is a lot more passive, inexperience coloring his movements. 

“Touch me, Katsudon,” he goads, “or are you scared?”  He drops down to his elbow, fastens his mouth over Yuuri’s, a kiss hard enough to bruise.  Yuuri’s cock jerks in his hand and Yurio wonders for a moment if, with enough experience, Yuuri might turn out to like it a little rough.  Yurio feels fingers at his waist, a fleeting touch, nervous, like Yuuri’s trying to mentally gear himself up to do something.  Yurio smirks into the kiss, backs off a little.  He’s rewarded when he feels Yuuri’s hand at the button of his jeans, pushing the zipper down, hand still shaking a little.  Yurio shifts, pushes his jeans down over his hips so Yuuri has access.  The first touch on his cock is divine; Yuuri’s nervous so, clearly, Victor never got this far.  Yurio can’t decide if that’s a shame or not, because Yuuri’s tentative touch is a complete fucking turn-on, and it derails any kind of coherent thought, blanking his mind for a second.  He finds enough brain cells to wrap his hand over Yuuri’s, to show him how he likes to be touched.  When he’s sure Yuuri’s got the hint, he removes his hand, pushing into Yuuri’s fist, trying to bite back the moan that threatens to escape his throat. It feels almost too good; Yurio knows that Yuuri has the edge over his own teenage body – he’s older by eight years – but he’s a virgin, too.  It’s almost even odds as to who’s going to come first, which pisses Yurio off.

He bats Yuuri’s hand away impatiently, pushes at Yuuri’s t-shirt, exposing his muscled stomach, and even Yurio has to admit Yuuri’s got some impressive musculature now he’s in shape.  He pulls up his own t-shirt, because he wants to feel skin against skin, cock against cock, to rut against the length of Yuuri’s hard, warm, body.  He can feel the slick slide of precome against their stomachs, easing the way, and soon they’ve found a rhythm that works, grinding against each other as their pleasure spirals higher.  Yuuri’s taken enough of an initiative at this point – or he’s forgotten he doesn’t know what he’s doing – to wrap a leg around Yurio’s hip, one hand pushing against his lower back, urging him on.  His breath is fast in his throat, a match to Yurio’s, and Yurio dips his head down to graze his teeth along Yuuri’s neck.  Yuuri tilts his head back and lets out a moan, cock twitching against Yurio’s stomach.  It’s almost perfect, but Yurio can’t let it go; there will always be an element of competition between them.  This isn’t eros; it is not agape. This is lust, pure and primal, but Yuuri responds to it, nonetheless.

“I bet in your wildest dreams you never thought you’d be here, fucking on Victor’s bed, did you?” Yurio hisses against Yuuri’s neck.  He bites down, licks at the skin, does it again just to feel Yuuri flinch.  “Or, if you did, you probably didn’t think it would be with me.”

Yuuri digs his blunt nails into Yurio’s back, scoring harsh lines over his skin and Yurio bucks beneath the touch, pleasure and pain mingling with the prickle of sweat, stinging.

“Every word out of your mouth is spiteful,” Yuuri gasps.  “You’re – _ah_ – can’t – “

“Can’t what, Katsudon?  Gonna come for me?”

Yuuri’s hands are pushing at Yurio’s skin, grabbing mindlessly.  His head is thrown back, kiss-bruised lips parted as he lets out one harsh pant after another.  It’s one of the hottest things Yurio’s ever seen and the ache in his dick, behind his balls, intensifies.  He fists his hand in Yuuri’s hair, just to feel that hard, tight body writhe beneath his, trapped in pleasure.  Yuuri’s body is taut, every muscle straining as he rocks against Yurio, and then he lets out a sound, half surprise, half a broken moan.  His nails dig into Yurio’s back and then Yurio feels Yuuri’s cock pulse, once, twice and he’s coming.  Yurio swallows Yuuri’s next gasping cry with a kiss, pushing his tongue into Yuuri’s unresisting mouth, tongue-fucking him in a parody of their body’s movements.

He feels Yuuri go slack beneath him, knows he’s won.  He’s going to look like he’s been mauled by the time this is done, but Yuuri still came _first_ , which is the most important thing.  Yurio pushes himself up to his knees, straddles Yuuri’s hips, and admires the body beneath him.  Yuuri looks half dead, eyes heavy-lidded with tired lust behind those ridiculous glasses, chest heaving.  He has come smeared all over his stomach; hell, Yurio’s wearing half of it, but Yuuri looks beautiful in the ruins of his first sexual experience.  He’s going to look even prettier when Yurio’s done with him, he thinks.

He fists his cock, stroking hard, pushing forward into his own hand.  He watches Yuuri and smirks because, despite what just happened, Yuuri’s still pretty much a virgin and has no idea what’s coming next; he’s probably never even thought about it.  Yuuri blinks and then scowls back at Yurio suspiciously, pushing up on one elbow, but Yurio plants his free hand on Yuuri’s chest.  “Stay still, Katsudon, I’m not done with you yet,” he gasps out.  He works his hand faster, tightens his grip, fucking his own fist.  He can feel the muscles in his legs tremble as his balls tighten.  Yuuri seems utterly fixated on what Yurio’s doing; flicks his gaze between his hand and his face.  Yurio grins, bites his lip, pleased to see Yuuri’s eyes following his every movement.  When he comes, he comes hard, tight pleasure snapping into release.  For a moment, it’s like his vision blanks and he arches forward, the hand on Yuuri’s chest fisting in the fabric of his t-shirt.  Come stripes across the shoulder of Yuuri’s shirt, then his neck, flicking up over his jaw in thin ribbons.  Yuuri makes a shocked expression, pushing Yurio back.  Yurio starts to laugh, even while he’s still in the final throes of orgasm – he’s still coming – and he feels light-headed, almost high.

He watches as Yuuri swipes at his jaw and neck, only succeeding in spreading Yurio’s come around rather than removing it.  “Are you always this much of a child?” Yuuri demands angrily.  “That’s disgusting.”  He’s pouting, and isn’t that adorable, Yurio thinks.

“I’m _fifteen_ , Katsudon, or did your orgasm wipe your brain cells?”

The sound of slow clapping fills the room, and Yurio turns his head toward the door at the same time as Yuuri.  “Wow, who knew the kitten and the piglet could be so fierce?” 

Yurio’s still trying to get his breath, so it’s Yuuri who gasps out, “V-Victor?” and struggles to his elbows.

Victor’s in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.  His coat is undone, so he’s clearly come from outside.  There’s a fine dusting of color on his cheeks; it could be from the walk back from town or maybe the sake he’s drunk, but Yurio thinks it’s probably more to do with the show he just witnessed.  Victor pushes off of the door, turning just enough to slide it closed with a click. 

It’s at that point that Yurio realizes he never closed the door, that’s it been open the _entire_ time and that anyone could have walked in.

“Hmm, both of you have terrible stamina,” Victor observes with a frown. “I could have done much better.”

“Eh?” Yurio snaps, at the same time Yuuri does, although his response sounds a little politer.

“I suppose that’s what happens when you’re a beginner.  It’s like learning to skate,” Victor muses, tilting his head to the side and offering one of those devastating smiles – the one that usually means he’s about to offer the verbal equivalent of a sword to the stomach.  He slips off his coat and drops it on the arm of the couch and pauses, sizing them both up.  Yurio suddenly feels unaccountably nervous, and he feels Yuuri shift beneath him.  It’s then that Yurio realizes he’s still straddling the piglet and he glares at Yuuri.  Yuuri glares back, although the impact is somewhat lessened by the fact he’s still got Yurio’s come splashed along his throat and jaw. 

“Yurio.” Victor’s voice cuts through Yurio’s thoughts, and he turns his glare back on Victor, who’s standing there with one hand on his hip.  He’s looking slightly less amused now, Yurio notes.  “As I was saying,” Victor continues, “You have to work at building stamina. It takes practice.  As a beginner, you wouldn’t attempt a quad axel on the first day, would you?”

“Victor, does this have a point?” Yurio growls irritably. He’s very much aware his dick is hanging out of his pants, and he’s starting to feel cold.

“Of course.”  Victor crosses the room, reaches down, and picks up one of the towels that must have fallen to the floor.  He flicks it at Yurio, who catches it, then drops it on Yuuri’s chest. 

“Clean up, Katsudon,” he snaps.

“Ah, not so fast,” Victor says, sitting on the edge of the bed.  He leans forward, slides a hand around Yurio’s neck and places a kiss on his forehead.  Then he turns to Yuuri, does the same, although not before swiping his thumb along Yuuri’s lower lip, cleaning up some of Yurio’s come.  Yurio watches open-mouthed, along with Yuuri, as Victors sucks on the end of his thumb. Then he smiles, and now it looks a little predatory, hungry.   “Since quads are out, why don’t we start with a triple, yes?”

For the first time, ever, Yurio’s actually rendered speechless.


End file.
